


It Started With A Text

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Guilt, Inner Dialogue, John is a Good Friend, M/M, Mycroft has a huge dick, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Sherlock never visited Eurus in prison as I think that was completely stupid, Sibling Incest, Slow Burn, Texting, The scene with Mycroft and Sherlock and the parents didn't happen, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 12:25:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14954663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: Another get-together-story after Sherrinford. There's not much plot otherwise but lots of fluff and sweetness.





	It Started With A Text

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm exhausting this topic but this story was on my list for a long time and I really liked writing it. I hope you'll enjoy reading it. If you do, I would love to get some feedback. It's not so heavy on the smut side but there is lots of fluff to make up for it I think.
> 
> Differences to the show: Mycroft won't inform the parents about Eurus in Sherlock's presence and Sherlock won't visit his sister. It made no sense to me in the show and I hated that he went there all the time to bond with this awful woman.
> 
> The title is a variation of the songtitle "It Started With A Kiss" by Hot Chocolate.

## Prologue

It started with a text. Well, a lot of things in Sherlock's life used to start with texts. And it took him an awful lot of time and the help of a very good friend to even realise what amazing development had begun with three simple words.

## 1

_Are you alright? SH_

He put the phone away to gaze through the microscope again – one of the few precious items that had survived the explosion in 221b Baker Street. He had been examining his object thoroughly, losing himself in his observations, and winced when his phone signalised an incoming text. He looked at the time on the display. Ten minutes. Quite some time for answering a simple question.

_[Is it so simple? When have you asked him the last time if he was alright? On a scale from 'never' to 'not once'?_

_It wasn’t necessary!_

_Oh, good.]_

Sherlock shook his head. What's that with this annoying inner voice? Where had it come from all at once? It sounded like a mixture of Mrs Hudson, John and Mycroft himself – an admonishing conglomerate of accusing voices. Disconcerting…

He shook the thought off and read the reply he had received.

_I'm fine. It wasn't necessary to send Gregory Lestrade after me. I trust you are fine, too. MH_

_And Doctor Watson as well. MH_

_We're fine. By the way: thank you. SH_

_What for? Almost causing your death? MH_

Mycroft self-loathing? Really?

_For offering your life for John's. Not that **this** was necessary. SH_

_Yes, pointing the gun at yourself was a brilliant move. I bow to your cleverness. You are in fact the smart one. MH_

_Is that irony? SH_

_The dangers of text conversations. No, as a matter of fact it wasn't. MH_

Sherlock stared at the display. His brother was obviously very _not-fine_ if he called Sherlock the 'smart one', even using a term like 'brilliant', after telling him the opposite all his life. Or that he was the family-idiot in exactly this situation…

_[You know he didn’t mean that!_

_Yes, but I thought there was some truth in it nonetheless…]_

Sherlock looked at his microscope as if it was a foreign object. He wasn’t in the mood for experiments anymore.

_[You only started this one to distract yourself from your awful day yesterday anyway._

_Shut up.]_

Was talking with his inner voice, albeit not loudly _[Not yet! – Shut up!]_ the first sign for being in need of psychological help? Medication? A hit on the head? Getting drunk?

He weighed the phone in his hand. Then he wrote another text.

_Thank you again. I learned from the best. SH_

He didn’t get an answer to this but he could imagine Mycroft's stunned expression when he had read it. Hell – he had probably slumped down in his office chair, gaping like the goldfish he despised so much…

*****

The next morning they were sitting at John's kitchen table. Sherlock slept on his couch until them both, and of course Rosie, would be able to move into 221b again. It wasn’t overly comfortable but at least he didn’t have to go into a hotel. He had needed enough money to buy new clothes and all the stuff one needed to pull off a decent appearance.

Sherlock was lost in his thoughts and John had apparently addressed him a couple of times already until the words 'Mycroft' and 'brother' came through to Sherlock. Which was strange enough as he had been thinking of nobody else than said man.

“Sorry?”

John sighed. “I said, Greg just told me Mycroft wasn't very well when he visited him the night before.”

“Did you expect anything else?”

“Not really. Not even the Iceman can shrug that off so easily… Of course he sent Greg away. Greg's feeling rather sad about that.”

“Wasn’t one of my best ideas to ask him to look after my brother.” Sherlock fumbled for his phone and almost absently wrote and sent another text.

_Good morning. Busy day? SH_

“You had good intentions. Who would have thought.”

_Sherlock… You're starting to worry me. I'm fine. No need to hold my hand. But yes. Just coming out of an early meeting and soon off to the next one. MH_

“Shut up.”

John chuckled. “Now we're back to normal.”

_About Eurus? SH_

_Indeed. There's a lot to explain. MH_

_If you need John and me as witnesses, let me know. SH_

_Are you alright, Sherlock? It seems to have affected you more than I thought. MH_

Sherlock tensed. He didn’t want Mycroft's pity or concern about his mental-, let alone his emotional state. He didn’t even know why he was reaching out to him like this all at once. He'd never done.

_[This is not quite true. You do remember a lot of your childhood now…]_

_That video of us at the beach. I begged for ice cream, and Mummy didn’t want to buy me any as we had some for dessert already. In the end you secretly bought it for me. Is that a real memory? SH_

“With whom are you texting so early in the morning?”

_Yes, it is. They'll all come back, these memories. MH_

_Can I ask you when I remember something? SH_

_Of course. I'm here to fill the blanks. MH_

_Thank you. I hope your day won't be too hard. SH_

_Amazing. In the end I will have to thank Eurus for putting us through this. MH_

_Because it taught me some manners? SH_

_I would not have put it like this but… close enough. MH_

Sherlock smiled.

_Don't get used to it. SH_

_I would not dare. MH_

“You're sitting there, texting and smiling. Oh…”

“What - _'oh'_? What are you hatching in your neat little brain, John?”

“Irene. I should have known. But you finally threw out that text alert noise. For the better I'd say. When we move back into 221b, Mrs Hudson wouldn't be pleased to hear it all the time.” John took a sip from his tea and winked at Sherlock, for whatever reason pleased and proud that Sherlock seemed to intensify his contact with _The Woman_ (which still consisted of her texting him about once or twice a year and him not replying).

And for some reason, Sherlock just shrugged and smiled and let him believe it. And he bit his lip when his inner voice fired the next shot at him.

_[Isn't it a tad strange that you find it better to let him think that you are in vivid contact with a former blackmailing prostitute who is certainly still up to no good than letting him know you are exchanging relatively nice texts with your own brother?]_

Yes. It was strange but still Sherlock didn’t say another word.

*****

The next few days were very busy for the Baker Street Boys who currently didn’t live in Baker Street but could still meet clients there thanks to Mrs Hudson. The old lady had allowed them to use one of her spare rooms. It was rather loud above them as their flat was being rebuilt but at least people could find them in the usual address.

The cases were mildly interesting but they kept Sherlock occupied.

The cases and texting with his brother. He thought a lot about his childhood, something he had never done before Eurus had re-appeared in his life. Whenever he found a memory he wasn’t sure was correct, he sent a text.

_Did we really have a butler named James? SH_

_Yes, we did. You used to tell him stories about your day. He was very patient. MH_

_*_

_Uncle Rudy once came to the Christmas dinner in a skirt, right? SH_

_Yes, and Father and Mummy behaved as if that was completely normal. Well – actually it was. MH_

_*_

_We didn’t have a dog but a few cats, didn’t we? SH_

_Yes, and you loved to play with them. And when they scratched you… Well, you came to me. MH_

_And you took care of me. I do remember that now. SH_

_Yes. You were a really nice child and I liked to be your big brother. MH_

Sherlock stared at this text for a long time. How could he have not remembered this for so long? He might have deleted the memories about Victor and Eurus, but he had not done the same with Mycroft and still he had never thought about how close they once had been…

_I liked to be your big brother._

Well, he certainly didn’t do that anymore… Or perhaps he had started to like it again recently? Sherlock did not only text him to discuss his memories with him. In fact he did it quite often for no particular reason.

_It's raining. I hate rain. Clients don't leave the house. SH_

_*_

_Lestrade is so annoying sometimes. I think he spends too much time with Anderson. SH_

_*_

_How was your meeting with the PM? How can you endure this fool without knocking him out? SH_

_*_

And Mycroft would always reply very quickly.

_We're in England, little brother. Rain is our weather's natural state. Keep your head above water, so to speak. MH_

_*_

_He's a goldfish, Sherlock. A good one but still a goldfish. They are meant to annoy us. MH_

_*_

_Ghastly. And it takes a lot of willpower to not do that. Goldfish of the worst sort. But we've got to live with them. MH_

_*_

It was nice. This casual sort of conversation and, yes, reassurance. Mycroft was there and he was approachable. For him at least. Everybody else seemed to be a goldfish for his brother.

It made him proud.

And he knew how strange that was after decades of ignoring his brother, not even mentioning his weight-jokes and being nasty to him in general whenever Mycroft had forced him to communicate with him.

Sherrinford had changed his opinion about Mycroft so much more than he had expected in the beginning. He finally saw him as a person, not as the ever-admonishing, always-interfering older brother. And he liked this person. He was so much like Sherlock in a lot of ways but still different in others. He was witty. He was rather patient if it came to Sherlock. And damn – sometimes he even was funny. And somewhere in his Iceman-heart there still seemed to be a soft spot for Sherlock.

They texted every day, more or less frequently, and finally Mycroft started opening their conversations as well.

They didn’t meet once though. Until Sherlock asked him about having dinner together. The suggestion came as a surprise to both of them…

_Done with your conference? SH_

_Yes, just finished. Had no time for lunch, but well. Anthea got me a sandwich. MH_

_Would you like to have dinner? SH_

_With you? MH_

_Well, yes. SH_

Sherlock felt strangely tense while he was waiting for his brother's reply. He had not planned to do that. But what was the big deal? They were brothers, right? They could go to a restaurant together and… talk and just… eat.

_[You can't really blame him for being a little shocked._

_But we're on better terms now!_

_True, but from a distance.]_

The silence from the other side stretched out uncomfortably. Perhaps somebody had just demanded his attention. Or he had fallen off his chair at this unexpected offer. Or he simply didn’t want to meet Sherlock and didn’t know how to tell him. Nah. The latter didn’t sound like him. Mycroft would just brutally and sarcastically let him know that he'd rather have his toes amputated one by one with a blunt knife than going out with him…

He looked at the screen with mixed emotions after the phone had finally buzzed.

_That's a good idea, Sherlock. Where would you suggest? MH_

Sherlock was glad he had accepted but he cringed at his choice of words. It was exactly what he had asked Mycroft when his brother had been willing to get shot by him… The thought made him shudder and he quickly shoved it back into his mind – he knew he would never be able to delete any of the events of that day.

He texted back and asked Mycroft if he was okay with a small Italian restaurant not too far from Baker Street – not _Angelo's_ though. No matter that he could eat for free there and that the food was very good - it didn’t seem like a good idea… Angelo, as nice as he was, had the annoying habit to assume every man he went there with was his boyfriend. He had done it with John. Over years. Sherlock had met up with Lestrade there once. Angelo had done it again, complimenting him for his good taste (even though Sherlock had begged to differ…). Damn, _Anderson_ had stumbled in there once when he had eaten there alone and Angelo had immediately brought a few candles for their table, winking suggestively… Sherlock would _die_ if he did the same with Mycroft…

_Very well. I should be free at 7. Allow me to make an appointment, using a discreet name. Ask for Parker. MH_

Sherlock grinned. Always in control, his big brother. But perhaps he just wanted to make sure they would have a decent table.

_Fine. I'll come in disguise so we won't be bothered by people shoving their smartphones into my face to take pictures of the famous detective… See you then. SH_

Mycroft had always escaped the public eye so nobody knew who he was. And it would be fun to put on a little masquerade.

_I'm looking forward to it. Thank you. MH_

Sherlock swallowed. He really had been a damn idiot for a very long time…

*****

“Hey, what's that for? Do we have a case I'm not included in?”

Sherlock grimaced. He had hoped to be gone before John came home. He looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, content with what he was seeing. He had not put on a false beard or something but he was wearing a green shirt he had bought earlier and black jeans, and he had his hair done in a side parting, using styling gel that would probably never wash out again to tame his curls. On the way to the restaurant he would wear a cap, just to be sure. He didn’t look like Sherlock Holmes. But he looked good… Not that it mattered…

“No, I…”

“You have a date!”

Sherlock cursed his pale complexion for blushing so easily even though he really didn’t know why as he for sure did not have a date.

“You don't want to be recognised when you meet up with her; yes, that's understandable.”

John had been living with Sherlock for so long and still didn’t know that he was gay? Well, of course he had never done anything with a man, either, but he'd always known he was attracted to men. Seemed to run in the family. Uncle Rudy. Cousin Carhut. Mycroft… But he didn’t correct John. Should he think that Sherlock was about to have a romantic tête-à-tête with Irene Adler. Better than to explain to him that he was about to see his brother – whom John didn’t like at all…

“You think the disguise is okay?” he asked his flatmate. It should better be. If there were any pictures taken with him and Mycroft, John would be so pissed off, and of course Sherlock wanted to avoid being bothered anyway.

“Yeah, you look really different. You can't do much about the cheekbones but…”

“I will put on a cap on the way.”

“That should do. Do you think… you will… you know…”

“No, John, what?”

“Ah, Sherlock…”

Now Sherlock blushed heftily. “No! Of course not!” Then he remembered that John was talking about Irene…

“Ah, that's a shame…”

John seriously wanted Sherlock to jump in bed with a woman who had made him look like a fool towards his brother, had blackmailed the kingdom and bonded with Moriarty? Sherlock had to admit that she had been rather fascinating for him in her cheekiness and her will to get everything she wanted. She had been like a foreign species for him and her straightforwardness and charisma had somewhat overwhelmed him so he had behaved very irrationally; he had to admit that. But he had never wanted to have sex with her and even less he had been in love with her. He had admired her to some extent but they had been on opposite sides regarding actually everything. Plus: she was a woman and even though she had been convinced that she was The Woman who could lure Sherlock Holmes into a love affair, this had never been a possibility for him. He tolerated her texting him from time to time but he had only told John he answered her sometimes (after truthfully denying that the first time they had spoken about it, which John seemed to have forgotten) to make him feel better about texting with Eurus.

In any way Sherlock let him go on believing he was meeting Irene. “You know I don't have any interest in such activities,” he said stiffly, sticking to his reaction from before.

“You have no idea what you're missing out on.”

Sherlock just snorted. Then he left the bathroom to get his cap; of course he wouldn’t wear his coat tonight.

“You look so good that she'll be all over you anyway,” John joked.

Sherlock winced and he wondered why. He was not meeting Irene, God knew where she was at all; he had not heard from her since his birthday. And Mycroft would certainly not be all over him. This wasn’t a date!

_[Totally not! Just a friendly chit-chat with the brother you claimed to hate for most of your life!_

_Oh, just shut up!]_

Somehow he felt very tense and strange when he left John's flat.

*****

Mycroft looked up to him when Sherlock was approaching their table. “Good god, you look really different.”

“Is that good or bad?” Sherlock retorted, slightly flushing albeit not knowing why.

His brother shifted on his seat. “Well, it serves the purpose.”

“It does indeed. I'm sure nobody recognised me on the way here. And you really chose a discreet spot.” The restaurant was very small and the prices were more than moderate but the food was very good. Mycroft had chosen the darkest corner he could have found in it. It did surprise Sherlock that Mycroft had not insisted on going somewhere more 'posh' but then perhaps there would have been people from his workspace. Not that it was a problem that they went out for dinner. But Sherlock was certain his brother didn’t want any senseless conversations with people he despised anyway in his rare spare time.

He sat down opposite of his brother. And caught Mycroft staring at him. “What?”

Mycroft looked away. “It's just… your hair. It looks…”

_Idiotic? Pimp-like?_

“… really good.”

Sherlock was taken aback. “Oh, well… Thanks. Sorry about the casual clothes but I thought my usual suits wouldn’t do it.”

“Oh, that's fine, really, I guess it's a lot more appropriate than my looks.”

Of course Mycroft was impeccably dressed in a grey-suit with a vest and a black shirt. Before Sherlock could answer, the waiter came and Sherlock ordered pasta for him and Mycroft, who had gestured at him to choose for him as well, which made Sherlock strangely proud. Mycroft on the other hand picked the wine, and if he was disappointed with what they offered, he didn’t show it.

“I phoned our parents today,” he said when they were alone again. “Telling them about Eurus…”

“Oh, really? How did they react?” Sherlock hadn't expected that Mycroft would let them know that Eurus was still alive. But then – of course the events had been concealed by the Secret Service but it could come out anytime if somebody who had been involved couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

 “Not very well… Mummy said a few rather nasty things. I don't blame her. Perhaps it was a mistake to lie to them.” He sounded resigned and hurt and it was not a tone Sherlock was used to from his big brother and he didn’t like it.

“No, it wasn’t. You did it to spare them pain, not to deceive them. They should understand that.”

Mycroft gave him a small smile and shrugged. “So far they don't. They want to visit her.”

“Didn’t you say she stopped talking completely?” He did feel a bit bad about it. He had been surprisingly close to her in the end. Embraced her. Suggested her everything could turn out well… But then – what she had done was unforgivable… She would never be normal. And she could never get out of prison for the rest of her life. He knew he should try to make a connection with her. But then he could only see Mycroft's defeated expression when he'd been ready to die for Sherlock. He just couldn’t go there. And actually – he didn’t want to.

“She did. They will see that it doesn’t make sense. I don't think she'll ever communicate with anyone again. She's finally completely lost to the world.” He leaned back in his chair and thanked the waiter who had just brought the wine. “But of course they want to see for themselves. I'll arrange it.”

“You should have texted me.”

“Hm?”

“When they gave you a hard time.”

Mycroft blinked hastily. “It's okay, Sherlock, I expected that.”

“They had no right to be mean to you.”

_[Joke of the century. How many times did **you** hurt him with rejecting him and mocking him?_

_Shut up. These times are over.]_

Sherlock focused on Mycroft again, who had just shrugged. “I hope when they've met her, they'll see that you couldn’t have done anything else. And apologise.”

Mycroft gave him a grateful smile and after a second, Sherlock returned it.

And then the waiter brought their meals and they concentrated on eating, just casually making remarks about the food and the wine. When they had finished, they moved on to lighter subjects than their insane sister or their resentful parents. Mycroft told Sherlock some stories from their youth and Sherlock caught himself laughing more than once and watched his brother chuckle at his amusement. His blue eyes were filled with more emotion than Sherlock had ever seen in them and he knew his own were matching it.

It was nice to spend time with his brother.

Really nice.

*****

Three days after their dinner, Mycroft showed up in Baker Street. The rebuilt was progressing quickly, and Sherlock estimated that he and the Watsons would be able to move in in about four or five days.

They were still working in Mrs Hudson's flat now, and they were busy with a client when the doorbell rang.

Sherlock didn’t take notice of it, concentrating on the case he had just solved, proudly explaining the solution to the old man in front of him. He heard Mrs Hudson walk to the door and opening up, and then he felt a strange pang in his chest when he realised his brother had arrived. He hurried to finish which brought him a surprised look by John that said 'already finished with showing off?’ which he ignored.

When he opened the door of their improvised office to show the client out, his look met his brother's, and both men smiled. For just a second, then John came up to him.

“Oh, Mycroft, what a surprise. Did Eurus break out of prison?”

Sherlock left hand twitched and he bit his lip when he realised he had been about to smack his friend on the back of the head. When he turned to Mycroft, he saw two contradicting expressions in the pale-blue eyes. One was hurt about John's question, quickly concealed, and the other one was surprise as he had obviously noticed Sherlock's reaction.

“As a matter of fact, no,” Mycroft said, his composure back in place. “I just wanted to see how my brother's flat is looking now.”

“Actually it's our mutual flat, thanks a lot,” John snarled and Sherlock felt the same urge again.

Or had his arm twitched on unconscious purpose to show Mycroft…

_[Yes? Show him what? I know – shut up…]_

“Apologies,” Mycroft said, “of course it's your flat as well, Doctor Watson. I trust your child is doing fine as well?” His eyes had flickered for a second. He had seen it again.

John was taken aback. “Um, yes. Thanks. And no problem. They are making a lot of progress up there. Sherlock can show you and I'll make tea?”

Sherlock relaxed. “Yes, good idea. Come, brother. Oh, leave your umbrella here.”

John chuckled. “Yes, it's not raining up there and there won't be nasty clowns to shoot at.”

It hadn't lasted very long…

Sherlock turned to the doctor. “What did you say about making tea?” He heard the steel in his voice and John's eyes widened. He had heard the stop-sign… and certainly also seen it in Sherlock's eyes.

“On my way.” He gave Sherlock a confused look and left to go the kitchen.

Sherlock felt he had to apologise for his friend's behaviour.

_[All at once? He always treated Mycroft like shit and you never minded! Okay, I'm silent already.]_

Not knowing how to put it in words that wouldn’t sound totally awkward and strange, Sherlock decided to not say sorry. But he put his hand flat on Mycroft's back. “Let's go?”

Mycroft tensed under a touch that had to be a million times more awkward and strange than anything Sherlock could have said as Sherlock _never_ touched him, but when Sherlock proceeded to take his hand away, his brother made a step back, right into the touch so the younger man kept his hand still. Mycroft's cheeks showed the tiniest of flushes and his eyes had blown pupils when he nodded. “Sure, Sherlock.”

The detective shuddered as he heard him say his name in a voice a lot deeper than usual.

Something had just happened.

Something beyond awkward and strange.

Something not unpleasant.

Something dangerous.

Something for which he didn’t have words.

Something he didn’t even want to think about.

But when they started walking to the stairs, Sherlock's hand was still on Mycroft's back as if it was glued to it, and even through all the layers of expensive fabric he could feel the heat of his body.

Then Mycroft led the way and started climbing the stairs and Sherlock had to drop his hand, but he could still feel the fabric of the jacket and the warmth on his palm and he stored the sensation in his mind palace.

*****

Four days later, exactly as Sherlock had estimated, he, John and Rosie moved back into Baker Street. The upper floor had two rooms now – one for John, one for Rosie. Two very busy days went by with setting up furniture and unpacking and solving a few cases in between.

He hardly had time to text with Mycroft and he missed their routine, but on the evening of the second day, when everything was more or less in place, Mycroft came around, and he came with dinner for all of them, even Mrs Hudson.

“Oh wow, Mycroft. Thanks!” John was completely confused.

“Yes, Mr Holmes, that's really nice of you.”

Sherlock suppressed a grin about both of them being stunned and cautious about his brother's sudden generosity.

Mycroft just smiled and helped Mrs Hudson providing everybody with cutlery and food. She looked at him as if she had never seen him before, and Sherlock was stupidly proud of his brother.

The politician sat down on the couch – a small table had been put in front of it – and Sherlock ignored his chair and took place right next to him.

Mycroft sent him a surprised glance and then they shared a smile and started to eat, and Sherlock would not admit there had been a tiny electric spark that hit him right in the chest, ignoring his inner voice that helpfully explained that this had been in fact his heart.

They returned to casually texting the next day, mostly about chores and their past, Mycroft's finally reached reconciliation with their parents and the weather and stupid people. Sherlock caught himself smiling at the display way too often. He tried to avoid it in John's presence but often enough the doctor saw it and winked at him.

Another day later, Mycroft announced that he would have to fly to Paris for a conference the next morning. Elizabeth Smallwood had been supposed to take part but her new boyfriend had been involved in an almost lethal car accident so she couldn’t attend it. So Mycroft would step in and stay away for four days.

Sherlock didn’t smile when he read this text.

## 2

“Oh, hello, little brother.”

“Hi. Can I come in? I brought some dessert.”

“Of course.” Mycroft stepped back. “I've just finished packing. Care for a drink?”

“Always. And how many three-piece-suits will you take with you?” Sherlock winked and Mycroft smiled. Gone were the times of nasty remarks and coldness and Sherlock enjoyed teasing his brother now, knowing that Mycroft was well aware that there was no malice behind.

“Four of course.”

“Of course.” Sherlock looked at his brother. He wasn't wearing a jacket but the trousers of a suit and a plain white shirt with very fine silver stripes. A tie of course. And sleeve garters…

Mycroft caught his gaze. “I do feel good in these suits, Sherlock. I'm not the sweater-and-jog-pants-type.”

Now he did sound defensive again and Sherlock didn’t like it. “Not said a word! You… look very good in them,” he mumbled.

“Oh. Thank you. Come, give me your coat.”

Sherlock put the dessert on the small, round table next to the door and slipped out of his Belstaff. “So. Everything ready for tomorrow then?”

“Yes. I really could have done without that.”

“But Paris, I mean.”

“I won't go there for fun, little brother. I will sit in conference rooms all day, trying to be polite to everybody…”

“Yes, that's tough of course. All those goldfish to endure… How's the guy? Smallwood's?”

Mycroft seemed to be surprised that he recalled. “Better, as far as I know. He won't die from his injuries but Elizabeth will stay at his side.”

Sherlock nodded. “Sure. Strange though…”

“What is?”

“I was pretty convinced she's after you.”

Mycroft grimaced. “She was.”

“And what did you do?” Were they really standing in Mycroft's corridor, discussing his private life? Sherlock was sure his brother was gay but still he pictured him and the elder woman together. And shuddered. It wasn’t a nice image…

Mycroft didn’t seem to mind his question but gave him an inquisitive look. “I was polite. Declining her offers. Eventually I told her very clearly that this is out of the question.”

“Not your type, huh?”

Mycroft looked down on his feet. “Not at all. Well, let's go to the living room and relish what you brought here, shall we?”

*****

“That was very good. A lot more calories than a man my age should eat at once but very good.”

Sherlock put his empty bowl onto the table. “Don't worry about that. You've never been slimmer in your life than you are now.”

“Yes, apologies for spoiling your weight jokes,” Mycroft said and winked at him.

Sherlock didn’t match his light tone. “That was stupid. Always. The last time you were chubby was when you were fourteen. It was always a silly thing to say and… I'm sorry if I hurt you…” His voice had become very quiet with the last words.

_[Wow! Growing up, are we?_

_Shut…_

_…up, right.]_

Mycroft, who was sitting next to him on the couch, put a hand on his forearm. A feather-light touch. Which felt… very nice.

“It's alright, little brother. It was your way of… rebelling against me I guess.”

Sherlock snorted. “Yes, that would have been an excuse if I had been fourteen myself. But as a thirty-something it's just… pathetic.”

_[I'm really impr…_

_Shut.The.Fuck.Up!]_

Mycroft stared at him, seeming to sense his inner struggles somehow. The he leaned back against the backrest of the couch, his hand sliding from Sherlock's arm. He laid it onto his own thigh and Sherlock stared at the long, slim fingers. “I'm glad you think this kind of resentfulness is in the past now,” he cautiously said. “Be assured I'm certainly not resenting you for anything. I was a tad overwhelming in my concern for you apparently. I'll try to keep this in check. You're very capable of making your own decisions. Especially with the help of Doctor Watson.”

“Well, what would I be without your brotherly concern?” It was meant to be a joke but Sherlock could hear the question in his words.

So did Mycroft. “Oh, there will still be a lot of it. But I'll try to tame it. Not annoy you with it.”

Somehow Sherlock's hand moved by its own, sneaking forward until it was lying on his brother's. The touch of skin on skin made his whole arm tingle and he had registered Mycroft wincing but he left his hand where it was. “As long as you won't give me up.”

“Never, Sherlock.” Mycroft spread his fingers so Sherlock's long digits were sinking into the spaces between them, and then he put them together again so their fingers entwined on his thigh. He could feel his brother's heat through the fabric of the trousers and of course the soft skin of his fingers and the back of his hand.

Neither man searched the look of the other one, both staring at their hands – both very big but Mycroft had rather feminine looking fingers, soft and round, while Sherlock's were edgy and manly. Both hands were exceptionally beautiful, Sherlock decided.

Very carefully Sherlock moved his fingers so they were ever so slightly rubbing against Mycroft's. And every bit as carefully Mycroft returned the pressure.

They had fallen completely silent.

Sherlock had no idea how long they stayed like this. Holding hands. Because that was what they were doing.

Finally Mycroft very gently removed his hand from under Sherlock's. “Well, I think I…”

Sherlock jumped up from the sofa. “Yes, I guess you'll have a lot to do for tomorrow and…”

Mycroft nodded. “Yes, I want to finish some things for work and…”

“Sure. Of course. I'll go then. Baker Street.”

“Yes. My regards to Doctor Watson and Mrs Hudson. And Miss Watson.”

“Right. Thank you.”

They walked through the hallway and Sherlock slipped into his coat. And then their eyes met for the first time since several minutes. The expression in Mycroft's icy-blues was unreadable and he looked away quickly again. He cleared his throat. “Thank you for dropping by, Sherlock. And for the really delicious dessert. And for…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

“Yes. You're welcome. Bye then. Have fun in Paris. And… Will we text?”

Mycroft looked into his eyes again at once. “Of course we will. And if I don't answer right away, I'm just tied up.”

Sherlock nodded. “Right. See you then.”

“Definitely. Goodbye, brother mine.” His voice… so low… so… different.

“Bye, bye. And…” Sherlock opened the door and left the house without another word.

He tried not to think all the way home.

*****

_How's the hotel? SH_

_Very decent. Five stars. Lots of distinguished people. MH_

_Sounds totally boring. SH_

_It surely is. MH_

_*_

_And, did you survive the speech? SH_

_It was close. Can't wait for the day to be over. MH_

_It's only the first one. SH_

_Thank you. MH_

_Not for that. SH_

_*_

_How was dinner in the fancy restaurant? SH_

_Expensive. But tasty. MH_

_Back at the hotel now? SH_

_Yes. Just had a drink in the bar. Will have an early night. The day was packed. MH_

_I can imagine. Sleep well. SH_

_And you. MH_

_*_

“Sherlock, what's wrong?”

“Why should anything be wrong?”

“Come on. We're watching telly and not once did you criticise the logic. And you look… sad.”

“I'm not sad.”

_[I don't know what I am. What I feel._

_Oh, but you **do** know.]_

“You know you can talk to me. So…” John switched off the television, bringing an awful silence into the room.

Sherlock should have found an excuse and left. What he did instead was burst out, “When you miss someone you haven't seen for only a day. When you… text with them and can't wait for their reply, and your heart beats faster when you just think of them…”

“Then, Sherlock, you are seriously and utterly in love.”

Sherlock slumped down on the couch.

He had known that for quite some time now, hadn't he? All those long texting sessions. The way he was feeling in his brother's presence. Their fingers entwined on Mycroft's thigh…

It couldn’t be. They were brothers.

_[And? Afraid you can't outsmart all the goldfish? Or produce sick children?_

_He will never want that!_

_Really? Come on! Think of the hands again!_

_That was just a brotherly gesture from him._

_No, it wasn’t.]_

“I'm really happy for you. Well, it might raise some eyebrows…”

“What?” Sherlock stared at John.

“Well, with her past? Imagine what Mycroft will say to that! He still thinks she's dead, doesn't he? Now that's a sister-in-law!”

Of course… He had to think it was Irene. Why the hell had he asked John at all?

He got up, grabbing his phone that had been lying on the couch next to him. “Excuse me, I…”

His phone moaned. He dropped it onto the couch.

He paled.

_[Now that's great timing! I shut up already.]_

He should have said, 'I switched her text alert noise back to this sound' and then change the one for Mycroft's texts to this and finally block Irene's number like he should have done years ago!

But his brain hadn't worked in these few moments before John realised what this noise meant.

The doctor shot up from the couch, almost turning over his glass. “It's not Irene! The one you're texting with! Why did you lie?!”

“Technically I didn’t. You simply assumed that and I didn’t correct you…”

“Oh, that makes it much better! What the hell! Why do you not trust me?!”

“It wasn’t anything romantic, John. Not at the start. Damn, it's not even now. Just my feelings have changed, I don't know if he…”

John's jaw dropped. And it made Sherlock angry.

“Don't look at me like this! You said it's fine if I had a boyfriend!”

“Yes,” John said and let himself drop onto the couch again. “Yes, sure. Sorry. Really. I was just… I don't know what I was thinking. I was so convinced it was Irene.”

“I never text her back, John. I told you.”

John thought about that for a moment. “Yes, you did. You said later you would answer sometimes but…”

“It was just because you had such a bad conscience because of Eurus.”

 “Yes. I should have known.” John nodded.

Sherlock wasn’t surprised that he hadn't though. It had been a rather selfless move from him and that hadn't really been typical for him. Not that it mattered now…

For a long moment none of them said another word. But Sherlock knew the question would come. John wouldn’t just shrug and say, 'It's none of my business with whom you really are in love. We won't talk about it anymore.' He wouldn’t get off the hook so easily.

“Who is it, then, Sherlock?”

Sherlock buried his face in his hands.

“Come on! You can tell me! If I know him, I can give you better advice about this whole thing.”

Sherlock groaned.

“I do know him then. God - Greg?!”

“Who?” Sherlock looked up to his friend.

“Oh come on, this name thing is just a game, a disguise! Of course you know Lestrade's first name now!”

“I just told you my feelings changed very recently. Would you say my incapability of recalling his name is something new?”

“Right. No, it really isn't. Who else do we both know? Angelo?”

Sherlock grimaced. He pushed the thought away - the thought that it wouldn’t take him long… It really wasn’t a long list.

“Anderson?! No, forget that. Okay. Is he smart?”

Sherlock closed his eyes. “Can we just not do that?”

John chuckled. “Oh, please. You owe me for not telling me! Whoever it is, it's fine! So – is he?”

“Yes.” Sherlock was feeling very resigned.

“Of course he is. You wouldn’t fall for anyone stupid. Good-looking?”

“Very.” He had said it without even thinking about it. Was his brother handsome? The tall, lean man with the prominent nose, the big blue eyes and the well-shaped lips? God, yes.

“Well, sure he is!” John beamed at him. “Right. Your size or rather mine?”

“Taller than me. A little.”

“Oh wow. That limits it. So not Dimmock. A client?!”

“No!”

John seemed to be at the end of his imagination. “Well, I think I ruled them all out. Except for your brother of course!” He giggled – and stopped abruptly when he looked at Sherlock's face. “Fucking…” His mouth was open and his eyes full of shock.

“It's nothing between us, right! We didn’t do anything.”

John swallowed. “But you're texting with him all the time.”

“Well, yes.”

“He was here, even bringing dinner. He was nice. Oh God, Sherlock…”

“I know! It's hopeless and it's wrong and…”

“He loves you, too.”

“What?! Ah, no, he doesn't. Not like that. We did… you know… hold hands yesterday. A bit. He does like me but…”

“He texts you all the time even though he's so busy. And you don't always talk about Eurus or your family, right?”

Sherlock shook his head. “That's how it started. Well, it actually started with me asking how he's doing after Sherrinford. Then we mostly texted about my memories. And I realised how close we once were. I felt so bad about being so nasty to him all this time. Now we text about our days and all kind of stuff.”

“And you are head over heels in love with him.”

Sherlock groaned. “Oh God, yes, I am… I always think about him. He's in Paris now and will stay away for three more days and I… miss him…”

“Fly over.”

“What?!”

John nodded. “Do it. Talk to him. You can't do that on the phone. And if you wait until he's back, you'll get crazy. So fly over. You know in which hotel he's staying?”

“Yes but… How can you say that? Encourage me like this? To start an incestuous… thing with my own brother?” The thought of actually _doing_ something with Mycroft made his brain go all dizzy.

“Because you love him. And Sherlock – there's no doubt he loves you, too. I should have seen that when he was here. Or in Sherrinford. Now it all makes a lot more sense. I don't know if he's brave enough to give it a go though. But I'd say it's easier if you surprise him there. Neutral grounds.”

“But what if he… is disgusted? What if…”

“You've known him all your life, Sherlock. You can deduce everybody.”

“I've never been good at deducing _him_ , John.”

“I give you that. He's indeed very smart. And cold. On the outside at least. Not easy to read. But if you imagine the time you spent with him yesterday - holding hands for God's sake - do you seriously think he doesn't feel the same way?”

Sherlock closed his eyes and saw their hands again, the fingers pressing each other, even playing with each other on his brother's thigh.

“No. No, I don't. But that doesn’t mean…”

“Go there. Book a flight. Now. And then we'll make a plan.”

“You'll help me?” It was still very hard to believe.

But John smiled. “Of course I will. My best friend is in love. With a man who's willing to get shot by him so he's safe. What more can I wish for him?”

And then Sherlock glomped him and John chuckled against his neck.

## 3

_So more than half of the day over? SH_

_Thank God yes. But the rest of it will be another attack on my patience. MH_

_No chance to flee and return to London? SH_

_I don't think so. Elizabeth owes me a lot. MH_

_Have you heard about her boyfriend? SH_

_He's doing better. But she doesn't want to take my place. MH_

_Bad woman. SH_

_The worst. MH_

_Nobody around to cheer you up? SH_

_Unfortunately no. Except for your texts. MH_

_Glad to bring at least a little ease to your duties. SH_

_Well appreciated, little brother. MH_

_So – will you hit the bar again when it's over? SH_

_Most definitely. One drink only and then off to the privacy of my insultingly boring room again. MH_

_Drink on me. SH_

_I can do that. Oh, the American delegate is about to deliver his speech. Ghastly man. MH_

_But not…? SH_

_Oh, no. Not the devil himself would keep me in this room if it was him… But he seems to be a close relative, judging by the hairstyle and the intelligence. And this accent! A disgrace! MH_

_And if they tied you to your chair? SH_

_I would run away with the nasty thing. MH_

_What if a bomb was outside the room, ready to explode when you burst out of the door? SH_

_I would gladly be torn to pieces. And hope it catches him as well. MH_

_What if someone was standing at the door with an axe, decapitating everybody who tries to escape? SH_

_He shall soil his shoes with my gushing blood. MH_

_What if **I** asked you to stay and listen to him? Even clap enthusiastically? SH_

_Would you be so malignant? MH_

_Hehe. What if? SH_

_You would really do that to your precious big brother? MH_

_Without even blinking. So? SH_

_I'd stay. And clap. MH_

Sherlock stared the display that was shivering along with his fingers.

Then he listened to a voice coming out of the speakers.

_Good answer. But of course I would never make you suffer like this. I have to go now and won't be available for about two hours. Survive the torture, brother dear. SH_

_I shall do my best. Talk later? MH_

_For sure. SH_

Sherlock stored his phone and then he got up, grabbed his bag and went off to enter the plane.

*****

He was ready. Ready and so not ready. His long fingers were playing with the glass and he was sure only he could see they weren’t steady.

He noticed that he was getting attention, mostly from women, but also from some men. But not because they recognised them as Sherlock Holmes he was sure as nobody took pictures of him or approached him – and he was in France after all and not in England. They didn’t stare because he was famous but because he looked better than he'd ever done in his life. This wasn’t vanity. The looks and the mirror told him.

His black hair combed back, tamed again with lots of styling gel that made it glitter, his cheekbones stressed amazingly by the hair lying flat on his head, no parting at all this time. A black tuxedo with a crisp white shirt. Shiny black shoes. The aura of a man - resembling a film star of the 1950ies - who knew who he was and that he was irresistible. Sherlock would have loved to smoke a cigarette to make the image even stronger but unfortunately this was out of the question these days. But that was just a detail and he made up for it with radiating self-confidence, coolness and glamour.

Of course that was just his appearance, his role. In fact his heart was beating way too fast and he discreetly used a tissue from time to time to dry his sweating hands.

He hadn't texted Mycroft again and his brother seemed to be silently suffering through the slim rest of the second day of his conference now. He would be finished any minute now and come to the hotel bar Sherlock was waiting in.

The plan was plain and simple. Meeting the unaware Mycroft in the bar when he was free of his duties for the day, looking the best he could – and of course it was also meant as a disguise.

He even wondered if Mycroft would recognise him at once… But then – of course he would.

The plan ended with Mycroft approaching him and Sherlock addressing him in a special way. Because whatever was about to follow then was not up to Sherlock alone anymore.

He was ready to open up and jump on the wagon of a forbidden, shocking, incestuous relationship, encouraged by no other than Doctor John 'Decency' Watson. He was more than willing to give something unthinkable a go – he who had never wasted a thought at sex in his life. But he had no idea what Mycroft would do.

_[After this text exchange you can at least not doubt anymore that his feelings are not brotherly._

_No, I really can't. But that still doesn't mean he wants to risk it all for me.]_

Sherlock took a sip from his drink, catching another hungry look at him, this time by a woman in her forties with too much makeup and piercing black eyes. He ignored it, not openly arrogant but simply playing oblivious. Still nobody was pointing a smartphone at him which was very good. He didn’t want them to end up in the internet. But this was a very expensive hotel and obviously the people in this room did have some class. And he was still sure he had not been recognised. Not that there was anything to it to have a drink with your brother.

_[For which you flew to Paris._

_Ah, you..._

_Pretend I never said anything.]_

Sherlock drank again and then his phone vibrated. He hastily took it out.

_Finally finished. I never needed a drink more than now. MH_

Which was very good of course. But if he had gone somewhere else or straight up into his room, Sherlock would have found him there as well. But he kind of liked this scenario even though he'd had some reservations against being in public with him. He had said to John that it wouldn’t be very good if one of Mycroft's colleagues would accompany him. John had snorted and said, _'They may go into the bar as well but Mycroft will bite them away with one look. I bet the last thing he wants is to play nice when he's finally free from their presence, and they will keep their distance for sure.'_

_You really deserve this now. Order something good. SH_

_Always. Life is too short for cheap whiskey. MH_

But Mycroft wouldn’t have to order it. Sherlock did it, in French of course. The bartender, a nice-looking, thirty-year-old with black hair and dark-brown eyes, grabbed for the bottle of the most expensive whiskey they were offering. Mycroft's favourite brand.

Sherlock thanked 'Antoine' as the name badge said, and placed the glass with the shiny, amber fluid, no ice of course, next to his own one. Then he switched off his phone.

The time was running and he'd never been so nervous in his life.

And then Mycroft came into the bar. Alone. Several men followed but as John had said, they kept a big distance to him and searched for a table in the generous room without looking at him again.

Mycroft didn’t look to any side but went straight to the bar with elegant but long steps, his face expressing exhaustion and annoyance. And then he saw Sherlock. And stood on the spot.

Someone who didn’t know him would have probably missed the surprise and the joy in his eyes when he recognised his brother. His eyes glanced all over Sherlock, taking in his different looks. And he liked what he saw. But there was something else in his eyes and perhaps not even Sherlock would have seen it had Sherrinford not happened. It was fear. But there was yet another emotion…

_[Hope, Sherlock._

_Yes, that's it._

_Go for it._

_I certainly will.]_

Mycroft continued his way, a lot slower than before. His eyes didn’t leave Sherlock for a second.

And then Sherlock smiled at him and Mycroft smiled back.

The game was on.

*****

“I believe this is your drink, sir,” Sherlock said before Mycroft sat down on the bar stool next to him.

Mycroft hesitated for a second. “I guess so,” he said then, taking place.

“They said it's the best you can get.”

Mycroft lifted the glass and took a sip. The taste definitely pleased him. “They are right.”

Sherlock nodded. “Had a hard day?”

“Oh, I'd definitely say so. What about you? You're not from here, right?”

Sherlock was amazed that Mycroft was playing the game, and he did it very well. He was nervous and scared but he was happy that Sherlock was here. That was good. They could both work on 'nervous' and 'scared'. They couldn’t have dealt with 'annoyed' and 'no way in hell'.

He allowed himself to relax a bit. “No, I'm not. I'm from London.”

“Oh, are you! So am I.”

“The world is small.”

“So they say. What do you do over there?” Mycroft licked more at his whiskey than he was drinking it. It had to be really good.

“Oh, lots of stuff, you know. Helping people who are out of their depth.”

“Aren't they all, all the time?”

“I'll never be unemployed.”

Mycroft chuckled into his glass. That was good. He was starting to relax as well.

And this was fun.

“So… You came here for a holiday?” Mycroft was taking over the conversation and Sherlock was very happy to let him guide the way. And Mycroft had to know he had just delivered him a very good line.

“Not quite, no. Hoping to meet someone.”

Mycroft gasped, just the tiniest bit. They had reached dangerous grounds. “I see,” he said after a few seconds. “Someone special?”

“Oh yes. Very special.”

“Is he now?”

“Yes. Tall, dark and handsome as they say. And very clever.”

“Sounds like an interesting man.”

“The only interesting man for me.”

“He's lucky.” Mycroft's voice was pure silk now. Sherlock had never heard him talk like this. “You coming all the way to meet him. Looking absolutely gorgeous.”

Sherlock's heart made a funny twitch and his cheeks had to be rather rosy now. “You think so?”

“Oh yes. So… tell me more about him. Why him?”

_[We're getting somewhere.]_

Without a doubt.

“Who else?” Sherlock played with the half-empty glass in his hands. “He's all I could wish for. So handsome and so fascinating.”

“Is he?” Mycroft seemed to be rather astonished.

“Of course. He's so smart he could rule the world on his own. Sometimes I think he does.”

“Oh, I'm sure he doesn’t. He might wish he could though. I think he just gladly does his best to keep his little corner of the world as neat as possible. Harder than it looks.”

“I bet. But if anyone can do it, it's him.”

“So he's smart and… handsome… and powerful.”

“Yes. Perfect I would say.”

Mycroft cleared his throat. “There's nothing problematic then? In you and him being together?”

_[And there it is – the edgy question.]_

Sherlock shook his head. “Quite the contrary. It's highly problematic. But I think these problems, albeit they can't be solved, don’t have to get in the way too much. He's very clever as I mentioned and so am I if may say so. Together we'll deal with it and nobody will even suspect anything.”

“I see. Not even someone who is very close to you? And curious about what you do? Like all the time?”

Sherlock swallowed. He really hoped Mycroft would not leave in a second. “This certain person might have found out about my feelings already.”

“What?!”

Sherlock saw that the raising of his voice had turned some heads but thank God still no phones were being directed at them. He quickly patted Mycroft's arm. It was the first time they touched since they'd met here and it was like a small lightening. “Actually it was his idea that I came here.”

“What… His idea… Really?” His big blue eyes were expressing deep amazement.

Sherlock couldn’t blame him for not being able to believe that. “Yes, really. I have his full support.”

“Wow. That… is surprising.”

“It is. And I never planned to let him know.”

“As long as you're sure you can trust him. But yes, I know you can.”

Sherlock smiled.

Mycroft smiled back but then he got serious again. “Nevertheless – from what you said nobody else should be told about it.”

“Oh, of course not. With this person's help it will get a lot easier to conceal it for others though.”

Mycroft considered this. “I guess that's true.”

“I just hope… he knows how serious I am. I mean – I'm known for being a bit manipulative…”

Mycroft snorted and Sherlock playfully boxed against his upper arm which made his brother grin.

“…and keen on doing experiments of some sorts. I hope I can convince him that this is nothing like that. I really want to be with him. And not only for a night or two.”

Mycroft looked him in the eyes. “Forever then? If it works out?”

The sheer thought of them breaking up again made Sherlock freeze. But he knew this was not going to happen. “I know it will work out. We are perfect for each other. Nobody understands our brains like the other does. We have the same sense of humour even though it took me ages to realise that. He's so indulgent with me and I absolutely need someone who is. Nobody has ever interested me like he does and I can't wait to be alone with him. I mean – I may be an absolute, hopeless beginner in anything physical but I'm very willing to learn and I do learn fast. I really can't wait to… kiss him and… touch him and do everything for his pleasure.”

Mycroft looked as if his throat had just gone completely dry. “I see,” he rasped out and then poured the precious whiskey down in one go. When he went on talking, his voice was smooth again but very quiet. “I'm sure he feels the same way. He obviously never found anyone who was worth his attention. He might not be a virgin but he hasn't been around the block either and his heart… His heart has never been touched by anyone but you. He dies for exploring his… sexuality with you and teach you what he knows and learns new, exciting ways to give you pleasure in the go. For you he'll be very giving and he'll have all the patience you wish for. And all the passion…”

“Mycroft…” Sherlock was holding onto the bar with all the strength that was left in his suddenly boneless body.

“Yes, Sherlock?”

“Can we go to your room? Like now?”

Mycroft nodded vehemently. “Yes. We definitely should. You didn’t rent a room, did you?”

Sherlock smiled. “No. I didn’t.”

“Fine. So, let me pay for the drinks…”

“Already done, brother mine.”

“You're very generous.”

“And I'm yours.” Somehow Sherlock didn’t care about being sentimental as he knew his brother wouldn’t mind. Mycroft did despise sentiment but this was a completely different story. Their story.

Mycroft stared at him and then he slid from the bar stool. “Come, little brother.” His voice was soft and yes, tender. Then he took his phone out and switched it off.

This (in his case not so) simple gesture said a lot about how important this was for him and it made Sherlock very happy.

*****

“You see it resembles the cell of a monk,” Mycroft said apologetically when he closed the door behind them. The room was indeed not overly homely and very sparsely furnished. But there was a big double bed…

“Well, not for much longer…” Sherlock blushed at his own cheekiness but Mycroft chuckled.

“That's quite right,” he whispered and then he gently laid his hands on his shoulders. “You look so wonderful. The most beautiful man I've ever seen.”

Sherlock blushed a brighter shade of red. Strangers looking at him appreciatively didn’t bother him but this was _Mycroft_. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

“And you came all the way to be with me.” He sounded completely stunned.

Sherlock nodded. “Yes. Neutral grounds… John said that.”

“John Watson. I'd have never imagined him doing that for us.”

“Me neither. But trust me – we can trust him.”

“I do.”

They'd been looking into each other's eyes all the time. Sherlock had not moved his hands so far but now he did, putting them on Mycroft's hips. And then his brother's large hands left his shoulders and cupped his cheeks. Sherlock felt like passing out but he wanted this so badly. And when Mycroft moved his head he closed his eyes and all but melted when his brother's soft lips met his for the first time. It was a gentle, soft pressure full of a tenderness nobody would have expected from the man who was called 'The Iceman' – and he usually was called that for good reason.

He opened his eyes when Mycroft pulled away, looking into the pale-blue ones of his brother, the pupils massively dilated. Sherlock embraced his waist now, searching for more contact, and returned the kiss when his brother searched for his lips again. It was the first real kiss he received and he let Mycroft guide him.

He took in his brother's scent _[eau de cologne, Calvin Klein/ deodorant, same/ shower gel, ocean/ warm, delicious skin]_ and his taste _[tea, Earl Grey/ biscuits, chocolate and coconut/ a cheese sandwich, Beaufort for sure/ a hint of peppermint toothpaste]_ , enjoying the warmth of the slim body pressed against his.

Their groins had not touched each other so far but now Sherlock grinded against his brother. He was hard and so was Mycroft. The feeling of his – huge! – erection pressed against his own made him moan into his mouth.

Mycroft pulled back, his lips as reddened as his cheeks. “Sherlock…”

“I want you.”

“Yes, God, I want you, too.”

A part of Sherlock waited for a 'but' even though it was silly. This had already gone much too far to be called in question. They both wanted it, they were both grown men and they wouldn't let anyone destroy what had started blooming between them.

Mycroft took his hand and they walked over to the big bed.

Sherlock was about to start undressing when Mycroft said, “Would you keep this tuxedo on for a while longer?”

Sherlock grinned. “It's nice, isn’t it?”

“Very. Don't get me wrong – you look great in your usual suits as well but this is really special.”

“I'm glad you like it so much. But don't you want to see my body?”

Mycroft pressed his hand. “Of course. But perhaps you could just lie down and let me…”

“…unwrap your present?”

“Yes! Just like this.”

“Having a suit kink, brother dear?” Sherlock sat down on the bed and grinned up to him.

“Not that I know of. Until today…”

“Fine with me. But I want to see it all and I want to see it now.” How could this be so natural, so light?

_[Because he's the one. You’ve known him all your life and you know how much he loves you.]_

That was true. And still Sherlock had treated him so badly all this time. Why? Because he had always felt intimidated by Mr Perfect Mycroft Holmes. The powerful, the flawless, the one who had always criticised him for his reckless behaviour, for the drugs and the lack of respect. That's why he had made all these weight jokes – because this had been once Mycroft's only weakness and Sherlock had held onto it long after it had stopped to be there. Because there hadn't been another flaw to mock.

Mycroft had started unbuttoning his shirt after slipping off his shoes and neatly putting his jacket and his vest over the chair next to the bed. “What's wrong?” His hands stopped their movements.

“Nothing, Mycroft. I'm just… so sorry for how nasty I always was to you. You never deserved that.”

“Oh, boy, it's alright. We spoke about that. It's past and as long as you won't make any weight jokes when I'm lying on top of you…”

Sherlock burst out laughing and Mycroft chuckled. “No, of course I won't. So – please go on.”

His brother still hesitated. “I should take a shower first. I spent all day in this conference room; I did freshen up a bit during the break but…”

“No. Just like you are. We can shower later. Together.”

“If you're sure.” He went on opening his shirt.

“Absolutely. And you smell so good.” He spoke rather absently as Mycroft revealed his upper body. It was pale like Sherlock's but covered with black hair. Sherlock gulped at the view.

Mycroft watched him closely, certainly for any hint of Sherlock being repelled. “It's quite the carpet, I know.”

“It's damn hot!”

Mycroft smiled. “You think so? Good to hear.”

“The trousers. Now!”

“Always so impatient.” Mycroft winked and then he playfully slowly opened the trouser button and the zipper.

Sherlock stared at the line of dark hair that led from his navel down to the neatly trimmed pubic hair. He got up so quickly that Mycroft winced. “Let me help you.”

“Oh, yes, I definitely need help. Old men always need help with getting rid of their clothes.”

Sherlock chuckled and sat down on the edge of the bed, directly in front of his brother. Then he pulled the zipper the rest of the way down and slid the trousers over his brother's hips and down his thighs.

“Let me step out of them. It looks silly.”

“Believe me – nothing looks silly about you…” But Sherlock helped him getting rid of the trousers and the socks. He gaped at the black boxer briefs that were Mycroft's only remaining clothing now. Or rather at the massive bulge under them.

“Well? You can let him out. He won't bite.” Mycroft's voice was pure silk and seduction now and Sherlock shuddered at how erotic it sounded.

Still he was hesitant about revealing the main prize. “I'm not so sure about that…”

Mycroft grinned. “He might spit at you but only when you're really nice to him.”

“I plan to be awfully nice.” Sherlock slowly lifted his right hand again and laid it on the prominent, hard swelling. It was warm under the fabric of the briefs and Sherlock felt a damp spot.

“I didn’t, you know, have a mishap,” Mycroft explained. “It's getting wet already.”

“God, brother…” Sherlock had known that of course but hearing Mycroft talk like this was such a turn-on. Finally he grabbed the seam of the briefs and carefully pulled them over something that was big enough to choke him. It sprung up and bobbed around, and the heavy, hairy sack under it wobbled amazingly. Sherlock could just stare with his mouth open – and watering… He had never seen another man's penis in flesh, so to speak – except for the corpses in the morgue or at crime scenes and that hadn't been sexy. Mycroft's dick was about nine inches long, he estimated, and the girth was impressive. The even wider head was exposed and dark-red and glistening. The whole package was intimidating and luring at the same time.

“You can touch it,” Mycroft encouraged him. “Only if you want that of course; I'd never push you… oh… Sherlock!”

Sherlock couldn’t answer. He knew it was impolite to speak with his mouth full. And full it was… He didn’t suck the fat intruder or rather just the head he had wrapped his lips around, trying to get adjusted to the size and the feeling of something lively and throbbing and hot and leaking in his mouth.

“Sherlock, oh God, you should see how that looks. And it feels great.” Mycroft's voice was a croaky whimper, so unlike his usual tone, and Sherlock could feel his skin tingle when Mycroft put a warm hand onto his neck.

Very carefully Sherlock started to perform his very first blowjob. It was a lot harder than it looked on video… He constantly had to watch his teeth and he still couldn’t avoid scratching over the soft skin more than once. But Mycroft didn’t seem to care; he whispered encouraging words and stroked Sherlock's face and neck the entire time.

Finally he urged Sherlock to stop. “Look at you,” he said when the younger man had reluctantly pulled back. “Your lips are so swollen and is that a tear?”

Sherlock had indeed felt his eyes watering when he had taken the big cock deeper and deeper into his mouth and actually his throat. “Not crying, brother mine. I love it. Let me finish it.”

“No way. First I want to have my share of exploration.”

“So now I may undress?”

“Just the jacket and the shoes of course. The socks as well. But I will free you from the rest in the go.”

“Fine with me.” Sherlock left his position on the edge of the bed to lie against the backrest after removing the parts of his clothing he was allowed to.

Mycroft joined him. “Are you comfortable?”

Sherlock smiled. “Very. And now show me how to worship someone.”

“I'd say you're already quite perfect at it…”

“Only practice makes perfect. And I plan to practice a lot with you.”

“No objections, brother dear.”

*****

Sherlock watched Mycroft while he gently took care of his shirt buttons, kissing every inch of skin he was revealing. It was such a strange and foreign feeling to have a soft mouth, damp at the seam, kissing his sensitive, untouched skin and Sherlock held his breath for long amounts of time at the sensation.

There would be a lot to talk about later - for example about how to hide their relationship from everybody except for John, especially Mrs Hudson and their parents.

_[You'll just snarl at him in their presence like you've always done._

_Right, but that won't be so easy. I don't know if I can._

_You'll have to.]_

And that was that. Sherlock knew he would. And he would hate it.

_[And you will accept because you love him. Really love him.]_

Which was true as well.

He needed to ask his brother since when he'd felt like this for him. Because it was obvious that it hadn't just happened; his feelings for Sherlock had been there a long time before Sherlock had realised his own. He wanted to know how long Mycroft had suffered from feeling something for his brother that he shouldn’t feel – at least that's what he'd had to think.

Sherlock didn’t see anything wrong or immoral in what they were doing. They were adults, they both wanted it and they were not harming anyone else, so it was their business and nobody else's. But of course society would condemn them and punish them for it. He had done some research. It may never come out.

He did feel guilty though – for pushing his brother away for such an awfully long time, and he didn’t even understand anymore why he had done it. But of course his vicious behaviour had let Mycroft suffer even more all this time.

Mycroft, who had been kissing every little spot of skin beneath his collar blades, looked up to him. “You okay?”

“Yes. Just thinking, you know. Hating myself for being such a brat, this sort of stuff.”

“Well, if you are thinking about that when I do _this_ ,” he licked over Sherlock's left nipple, “I'm doing an awful job here.”

Sherlock had winced under the touch to his now hard little nipple. “No awful job,” he croaked. “Do that again, please?”

“With pleasure. But only if you promise me that you'll stop thinking about that. No resentments, you remember?”

“Are you really so forgiving?”

Mycroft smiled. “I never resented you for being a bit… difficult in the first place. Why the hell should I do it now? Don't feel guilty, Sherlock. It's a waste of time. From now on, everything will be nice and sweet.”

“Rainbows and unicorns?”

“Just like that. And lots of sex.”

“Oh, I'll never mind that. Go on, please.” He stroked over Mycroft's hair. “Make me squeal.”

“Oh you will. I guarantee that you will.” He urged Sherlock to sit up so he could finally free him from his shirt, and after opening his trousers, he started licking and kissing his way southwards, obviously mapping every little part of Sherlock's goose-bump-covered skin in the go.

*****

“Oh, fuck, Mycroft!”

Mycroft winked at him and suckled at the tip of Sherlock's cock, alternating between gentleness that made him tingle, exceptionally wet licks that made him fist the sheets, and a pressure that made Sherlock almost scream. It was devilishly exciting.

His right hand was firmly holding the base of his dick, the left one fondling Sherlock's smooth balls, with the middle finger tickling the sensitive skin behind the swollen sack.

Sherlock had only not come at once when his brother's lips had started attacking his dick because his brain was concentrating so hard on his actions and on watching him – how the muscles in his arms and his back worked, how his arse looked, how his cheeks got hollow when he sucked really hard… It was a sight Sherlock knew he would never forget.

“You taste so good,” Mycroft actually purred when he let Sherlock's dick flop out of his mouth. “Now let's see about the other side.”

And before Sherlock could react to that, his thighs were grabbed and pushed against his chest, and then a wet, strong tongue unceremoniously licked at the most intimate spot of his body.

He could feel his eyes loll back along with his head and he roughly grabbed his hot prick and stroked it almost desperately in the rhythm of a tongue pushing into him. It lasted only another twenty seconds before several strong spurts of seed landed on his chest and even his neck. He had been almost silent, biting on his lip, panting with an unknown pleasure.

He didn’t open his eyes when he felt a tissue cleaning up the mess and he was pulled against his brother's fuzzy chest.

“Was that good?”

He could hear the smirk in Mycroft's voice. “Ghastly,” he rumbled and Mycroft chuckled.

Sherlock winced when something long and hard and wet was snuggling into his crack. Then he reached behind and grabbed his brother's arse. “Do it, Mycie. I want it…”

The embraced was tightened as a kiss was pressed on his cheek. “No, love. Not so soon. We can't do it all at once and then you'll send me away as you've already gotten it all.” There was a question in this half-serious statement.

“That's not going to happen. Never. I didn’t come here for a one-night-stand, brother. If you have me, I'll be your…” He broke off, blushing at the vast variety of possible and totally strange expressions for what he wanted to be for his brother.

Mycroft didn’t torture him with asking like he could have. “Yes, Sherlock,” he whispered, “I want you to be my lover, my boyfriend, my…”

“Sweetheart,” Sherlock said, feeling braver now that Mycroft had spoken it out.

Mycroft smiled against his ear. “Yes, my sweetheart. And I won't let you slip away again.”

“I won't want to. Okay, since you don't want to… take me now, why don't you just rub yourself where you are?”

“That I can do. You like that?” Mycroft started moving his hips and his huge dick slid up and down Sherlock's sensitive crack, and it felt heavenly, even after his strong orgasm, and it made him go dizzy whenever the thick head was rubbing over his hole.

“A lot.” Sherlock still wanted him to just push it into him but he knew that wouldn’t have been reasonable. He had brought a small tube of lube that was stored in his jacket pocket but he understood that Mycroft didn’t want to go quite that far at their first time together.

“Did you bring any other clothes?”

“Yes, I left my bag in a broom closet; I'll get it later.” He hoped nobody would find it and mistake it for a bomb… But he had stored it quite well.

“You're going to stay the next two days?”

“That's my plan.”

“A wonderful plan.” Mycroft moved faster now, his breath speeding up, and Sherlock knew he was close.

He also knew it was rather dangerous to stay with his brother here but it would be the first test for how good they would be at keeping this forbidden relationship a secret. Sherlock would wear caps and clothes nobody would associate with Sherlock Holmes – casual pants and plain t-shirts. Of course Mycroft would be away the entire day but they would have time to celebrate their new found love in the evening.

Mycroft hissed his name when he came all over Sherlock's back, and Sherlock stroked his arm tenderly while he was grunting and shivering through his climax, and then he laid back against his big brother into the stickiness between them.

After holding him for another minute, his face nuzzled into Sherlock's hair, Mycroft pulled back. “Now we can't postpone the shower any longer, love.”

“May I wash you?”

“You so may.”

They smiled at each other and kissed, and Sherlock knew this was the first day of a long life spent with the man who was destined to be all – his big brother, his lover, his friend and simply his one and only.

 

## Epilogue

 

Three days later they entered the plane back to London, both men with dazed looks and happy grins on their faces. Mycroft had insisted staying another night in Paris after the awful conference was over, and they had spent it with hours and hours of love-making like the nights before after taking a walk together - occasionally, if nobody was around, with entangled fingers. Sherlock knew they would never forget these days and nights – their first ones as Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes – brothers _and_ lovers.

It still amazed Sherlock that this all had started with a simple three-words-text.

 

The End


End file.
